


The Well

by ToYeetOrNotToYeet2



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Cuddles, Fluff and Angst, Hurt John Watson, John gets ill, John loves him really, M/M, Nightmares, Sharing a coat, Sherlock Holmes is a Bit Not Good, Sherlock Looks After John, Sherlock in Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:34:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27371992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToYeetOrNotToYeet2/pseuds/ToYeetOrNotToYeet2
Summary: Takes place just after John is rescued from the well, just fluff and angst.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Kudos: 51





	The Well

“Are you cold?” Sherlock asked, glancing over at his short friend.

“Bloody Freezing,” John grinds out, teeth chattering and body trembling, the blanket wrapped around him does little to protect him from the harsh biting of the wind. Sherlock glances over before shrugging his long coat off and wrapping it around John’s shoulders.  
“Well would you look at that,” John remarked.  
“What?” Sherlock returned, glancing quizzically at him.  
“The famous Sherlock Holmes taking his coat off in public,” John sassed, with a smirk as he pulled the fabric round him tighter.  
Sherlock scoffed, glancing anywhere but John. They waited for a while before Lestrade came over to them.  
“Eurus is secure, you guys are free to go,” He said shortly, turning to leave.  
“Hey, Greg” Sherlock halted him, “Make sure Mycroft is looked after... He’s not as strong as he thinks he is,”  
Lestrade looked stunned at Sherlock’s use of his first name, but quickly snapped back into reality,  
“Don’t worry, he’s staying at mine tonight, He says it is for convenience but I know it is because he doesn’t want to be alone tonight,”

Sherlock nodded, humming in agreement. Lestrade left, probably to go and get Mycroft, and John and Sherlock were left alone again.  
“You’re tired,” Sherlock stated. “I’m not letting you drive back to your place, you can stay at the flat.”  
“What about Rosie? And my clothes are damp,” John argued back.  
“Molly is with Rosie and you can borrow some of my things,”  
“How in the world do you know that Molly is with her?” John asked incredulously before adding, “Actually, no don’t answer that,”  
They had a bit of a stare down before John caved in and sighed out a soft “fine,”.  
They got a taxi back, the silence in the car deafening. The only noise was the occasional scoff from the driver as he looked at John’s drenched form. They got out of the car and Mrs Hudson greeted them at the door. She didn’t say anything but glanced briefly at John before ushering them inside. She nodded to Sherlock and he sent her an appreciative smile.

When they got inside the flat, Sherlock set about finding John some clothes, leaving the soldier standing awkwardly near the doorway.  
“These are the smallest I could find,” Sherlock placed a folded pile of his clothes on the coffee table. He scratched his neck awkwardly, “The room upstairs is free, obviously,”  
“Thank you,” John said picking up the clothes and sending a hesitant nod to Sherlock. He changed into the clothes upstairs, noticing how they were very long on him but a bit tighter as John was small and muscular but Sherlock was tall and thin. He’d definitely gotten thinner over their time apart, John promised to himself to make sure Sherlock ate more. As he crawled into bed, he cocooned the blanket round himself and listened to see if Sherlock was still awake. There was a few little taps and the soft pad of Sherlock shuffling across his floor (a bad habit of his) and then complete silence.  
John fell asleep quickly, the fatigue and stress of the day tearing at his body, to say it was a bad day would be an understatement.  
He awoke just as quickly though, a cold sweat layered over his features and a trembling shiver racking through his body as the memories of the rising water suffocating him plagued his head. His nightmare steadily challenged his war nightmares, both being horrifying experiences. John took a deep breath, and pulled the cover back over him as he flopped back down. He scrunched his eyes as if it would help get rid of the memories, alas it did nothing and he tossed and turned fitfully.

He sighed, debating whether to go down to Sherlock to see if he could stay up with him or to just try for more sleep. He read the time on the clock, 4:52 in the morning. Even though Sherlock was an insomniac the stress of the day most likely wore him out. John decided that he would go and see if the detective was awake and if he was not he would get a snack and return to his own bed. The soldier wrapped the blanket tightly round himself and padded quietly downstairs. He peeked his head into Sherlock’s room, the detective was fast asleep, curled up in a blanket. John went to close the door but its loud creek resounded through the room, he winced at the sound and Sherlock’s head snapped up. He rubbed tiredly at his eyes. 

“John?” He yawned.  


“Sorry um... I couldn’t sleep so I came to see if you were awake and the door creaked,” He apologised.  


“That’s okay. Any particular reason you can’t sleep?”  


“Yeah the, um, whole chained in a well thing doesn’t really make for a good dream,”  


Sherlock paused for a second before tapping the space next to him. John hesitated but crawled into Sherlock’s bed anyway, figure still trembling. The detective’s hand fell against his forehead, pulling back almost immediately,  


“John, you’re burning up. Stay there.” Sherlock got up and sluggishly dragged himself to the bathroom, John heard a cupboard open, a few taps and then the faucet was switched on. Sherlock came back a few seconds later, a flannel in one hand and a small tub of water in the other. Sherlock dipped the rag into the water as he climbed back onto the bed, rang it out and gently dabbed it against John’s forehead; the water was just perfect, not too cold and not too warm. John relaxed with a sigh, letting Sherlock drag the flannel onto his neck. The detective was being unusually nice but John decided he’d ask about it in the morning, he was a bit too relaxed to ruin the moment. Sherlock re-wet the cloth and placed it over John’s forehead, pushing the tub of water further away from them before climbing in next to John and resting his head on the soldier’s head.

Morning came quickly, the golden rays of sun leaking in through a crack in the curtains. John woke up alone, the only evidence that Sherlock had slept in the bed was him was the dip in his bed. He rolled over, checking the time; 10:47. Sherlock could be heard moving about in the kitchen. John sat up groggily, rubbed a tired hand over his eyes and stepped into Sherlock’s adjoining bathroom.

After finishing off in the bathroom, John softly padded to their living room, Sherlock was in their kitchen fumbling around with the kettle. He hadn’t noticed John coming in so the soldier coughed to get his attention. Sherlock startled a bit before turning to John, his eyes downcast and in his hand he held a tray of breakfast, apparently. 

“Morning John,” 

“Morning... What’s all this?” 

“John, I-” Sherlock looked up, making eye contact with John. His eyes were glassed over, shimmering in the artificial lighting and his bottom lip was trembling, “I’m so sorry,” he repeated over and over again, shoving the tray of breakfast towards John. John was bewildered, he’d never seen Sherlock so... Vulnerable. 

He took the tray from the detective and placed in on the table, 

“Sherlock, what are you sorry for? You’ve done nothing wrong,” 

The detective stared for a few seconds until a choked, gravelly sob climbed from his throat and his eyes clenched shut. Sherlock stumbled before dropping to his knees in front of John and burying his face in John’s stomach, hands gripping the fabric of the soldier’s shirt tightly. 

“It’s all my fault,” Came the muffled sob, and John could feel the front of his shirt getting wet. 

“Sherlock, what’s all your fault?” 

“If I... John if I had kept my distance,” Sherlock trembled and jolted with tears, “you’d never have been put in danger. You’d have had a happy danger-free life. Y-your daughter would have... have a mom,” He choked out, John started to speak before Sherlock cut him off, 

“If I had never befriended you, you wouldn’t have met Eurus and you wouldn’t have nightmares of the well. Y-you wouldn’t have suffered for two years because of me,” Sherlock sobbed again, his entire body jolted with the sheer power of his cries. 

John froze. He looked down to the man in front of him, stunned into silence. His brain finally turned back on when Sherlock started to cry but silently. 

“No. No. Sherlock Holmes, you are the single most greatest thing that has ever come into my life. Before you, I was just a sad doctor living on an army pension. And yes we’ve had our bad days, and bloody terrible days too, we’ve also had the good. Sherlock look at me,” John asked and placed his hands in the detective’s hair. Sherlock raised his eyes, looking guiltily at John. 

“Stop with the guilty look. You’ve done nothing wrong. You said dangerous and yet here I am,” He smiled, quoting what Sherlock said. Sherlock nodded tearily, standing up. 

“Sorry about that... I won’t let my emotions get-” 

“Nope. None of that too. You’re human and as much as you don’t want to admit it, you still have a heart,” 

John put his hand on Sherlock’s cheek, gently wiping away the last tears. Sherlock nuzzled into the touch, normally he’d back away but he accepted it this time. The flat settled into silence again and John stared at Sherlock’s closed eyes. 

“Sherlock?” John whispered, the detective’s eyes fluttering open. “Can I kiss you?” Sherlock was stunned for a moment, unsure of what to say so instead he leant forwards, hoping John would catch on. The soldier did, leaning forwards the rest of the way and claiming the detective’s lips. It felt like electric had jolted through the both of them, but it mostly felt... right. Like curling up in a fluffy blanket, with a hot drink on a cold winter night. Like listening to waves crashing against rocks. John smiled into the kiss as Sherlock melted, his body pressing against John’s. They parted and Sherlock put his head (albeit a bit uncomfortably due to their height difference) on John’s shoulder and the soldier wrapped his arms tightly against Sherlock, refusing to let him go. 

“It is what it is, Sherlock. And nothing will change that,” 

**Author's Note:**

> Johnlock is my OTP T~T


End file.
